


The Writer

by roseM0719



Category: Charmed (TV 1998), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Merlin (TV), Supernatural, Supernatural: The Animation
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Original Character(s), Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:21:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27552988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseM0719/pseuds/roseM0719
Summary: Every story has a writer.*This work is also posted on fanfiction.net and quotev*
Kudos: 3





	1. Entry 1

November 13th, 2020

Party of Three… a series that I never thought I would create. An idea, a moment of fun… 

Isabeau was never planned. She was unexpected. A new player in this game that I gave free will. 

Her parents, her brothers, her coven and their families were a spur of the moment. 

Ideas came and went. Certain things could’ve gone differently, but they are set in stone. What’s done is done and those decisions were her own. 

As I sit, Isabeau is doing what she wants. I am her writer, but now I only record what she does. The future is up to her. 

Though, this story isn’t the only one. There’s another universe with a different turn of events. One that I will maybe share with the world. But for now, they are unwritten or should I say, unpublished? 

There is so much to Isabeau’s story; so much more for me to tell. 

And it’s not just Isabeau’s story I’m going to share, but many other women who have inserted their lives into the hearts of Sam and Dean. 

Some romantically, others not… 

Will I ever be able to write them? 

Only time will tell. 

-The Writer


	2. She Was Just An Idea

The soft warm glow of the street lights lit along the brick pathway, the pools of water from the pouring rain reflected it’s light back at it. The sounds of cars passing by could be heard nearby, mixing with the pitter-patter of the rain and the footsteps of people’s shoes clicking against the brick. 

To anyone who was watching on, the young woman who was walking along with a large plaid umbrella and books in her hand looked normal. And she was. Nothing particularly special about her at all. Just a junior college student going about her day, making her way back home to her small apartment, eager to make a pot of tea, and snuggle up with her cat. 

Her gray-blue eyes crinkle at the sound of the rain hitting the umbrella keeping her dry. She always loved the rain. She preferred it over any other weather and it always calmed her. It inspired her more than anything else. 

Her medium length, curly brown hair bounced as she quickened her pace as her apartment came into sight. She smiled softly as she made her way up the steps, maneuvering her books under her arm to fish out her keys from her beige blazer jacket pocket. 

With a jingle of her keys, she unlocked her apartment door and opened it, shuffling inside. She shut the door behind her, locking it from the inside and closing up her umbrella, shaking off the excess rain. 

She places her umbrella off to the side by the entrance and smiles when she hears the jingle of a little bell making its way closer to her. 

She looks over to the source of the bell and giggles when her white cat with black spots walks over to her, “Hiya, Spike.” 

Spike meows in return jumping up into the air and the woman catches him with her free arm, “I missed you too.” 

Spike purrs, closing his eyes and rubbing his head under her chin as she walks deeper into her apartment, walking into the kitchen. Spike was probably the most lovable cat the woman has ever had in her life. Always wanting to be petted, to be loved and loved affection so much, that he would sometimes drool because of how much he loved the attention. 

If anything, Spike reminded her more of a dog than a cat, but she loved her drooly boy. 

He was once her mother’s and stepfather’s cat but when she moved out in the middle of college, she took Spike with her since he was so attached to her. 

She sets Spike down on the kitchen counter, placing her books down as well, and finally, taking off her blazer, “Have you been a good boy?” She asks, starting the conversation that she always had with her cat after a long day of classes. 

Spike meows in return, almost as if to say ‘yes’. 

The woman giggles, placing her blazer on one of the kitchen island chairs. She knew it was weird to have conversations with her cat. But, she reminded herself that many other animal lovers did the same with their own pets. 

She moves back to her kitchen counter, pressing a button on her home phone answering machine, playing back the messages she missed for the day. Having a home phone was something not a lot of people did anymore, but she decided to get one so her mobile wouldn’t blow up with appointments or other random calls. 

The answering machine beeped, replaying the first message she missed, “Hey Doc!-” The woman smiles at the name. She never really liked her first name or any iteration of it, so she told everyone to call her by a shortened version of her last name, ‘Doc’. 

The message from one of her friends back home continues, “I miss you so much! I know you don’t plan on traveling anytime soon, but it would be nice to see you. We’re only a couple of states away, maybe you could make the drive down one weekend? Or I can drive up to you?” 

Doc shakes her head as she lays out her books on the counter, Spike laying down a little bit away, watching his owner do her task. 

“Anyway. Call me back! Love you!” The message ends with a beep and another beep signifies a new message. 

“Hi, sweetheart.” Her mother’s voice echoes throughout the apartment as Doc opens up her journal. 

“I was wondering when you were thinking of coming back home for the holidays? Nana and I are gonna need some help with Thanksgiving. It would be nice if you came home a little earlier, what with classes being online and everything. But, give me a call back when you can. Love you.” Her mother’s voice ends and the answering machine tells Doc that there were no more messages. 

Doc hums to herself and pets Spike, who closes his eyes, enjoying the touch, “I’ll call them tomorrow. I think a nice pot of tea and some cookies sound good. What do you think?” 

Spike says nothing but purrs as Doc continues to pet him. 

She snorts, “Tea and cookies it is then.” 

Doc pulls her hand away making Spike stare at his owner, wondering why the petting stopped. Doc giggles at his expression and carries out the task of making tea and pulling out a box of chocolate chip cookies she made a few days ago. 

She places the teapot full of water on the stove, turning on the burner and prepping her mug with a bag of peach green tea. She turns away, gathering up her books and leaving the kitchen with Spike following, knowing it would take a few minutes for the water to be ready. 

She heads into one of the extra rooms in her apartment that she turned into a study. Her large mahogany desk had a working typewriter off to the side, her laptop in the middle with tea-stained mugs littering the edges of her desk and other surfaces in the room. 

Her walls were filled with papers pinned, pieces of red string connecting to some pins to tie ideas together. Sketches of characters she thought of for her writing were also pinned on the walls; notes of their names and other facts about them below the pictures, waiting to be organized.

Spike purrs as he jumps on top of one of her side tables that had his bed and favorite toys next to it. He flops down, his head perched on the edge to watch his owner. 

Doc sets her books down, and before opening her laptop, she pauses at the stack of papers sitting next to her typewriter. At the top was a page that had three words printed right in the middle of the page. 

‘Party of Three’ were the three words on the page. It was the title page of a fanfiction she was writing for her new favorite show ‘Supernatural’. The show was ending next week and based on the ending, she was going to decide how she wanted to plan it out. 

Though, she found herself not really planning anything. She had a few ideas on how she wanted to take it, but whenever she found herself writing it, it was like it was taking a mind of its own. 

She was happy that it was coming out that way; the story she was telling took its own course and even surprised herself occasionally. 

Doc takes a seat and places a hand on the story. She finished part one, well, season one of her own character's story, and was trying to finish up season two to continue the series. Though it was giving her some trouble. So, she decided to take a step back, hoping that when she would come back to it, the ending would write itself. 

Doc looks over at the wall next to her and smiles at the drawing of her main character of the series; Isabeau Fitzgerald MacLeod. 

At first, Isabeau was just an idea. A random thought that popped into her head one random day. Doc never thought she would write her story. A different version of ‘Supernatural’ that relied on creatures being good and accepted. Isabeau was something special. 

Isabeau and her story was an outlet for Doc. Writing Isabeau’s story made her happy. It became a part of her, and she cherished it. 

The high pitched whistling of the teapot broke Doc from her thoughts. She pulled away from her story and left her study, going to finish up her tea. 

Spike being Spike, he immediately followed her, leaving the study empty for only a few minutes. 

The lights from the mosaic glass lamps in the study start to flicker and stop once the keys on the typewriter start to move on their own. For a few seconds, the typewriter types out two words and then stops with a ding. 

Doc smiles as she comes back into the room with her mug of tea and a small plate of cookies. She watches Spike go back to his bed and places her plate and mug down on her desk. 

She sits back down at her desk, taking a sip of her tea, closing her eyes in content as the warmth fills her from the inside. 

Doc opens her eyes back up and blinks in confusion once she sees the typed out sheet of paper in the typewriter. 

Doc sets down her mug carefully and pulls out the sheet of paper from the typewriter. She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion as she read the two words on the paper out loud, “The Writer”? 

The sudden clicking of the keys made her freeze in place. Her eyes slowly shift over to the typewriter and then jumps back in shock as the keys on the typewriter try to type but with no paper, it uselessly types. 

Spike, out of curiosity of seeing the typewriter work on its own, stalks toward it, sniffing at the air around it. 

The typewriter stops and Doc stares at it with a mix of fear, anxiety but mostly, curiosity. Doc licks her lips, placing the page in her hand down on the desk, and grabs a blank paper from a stack ready to be written on. 

She carefully inserts the paper into the typewriter, prepping it to be typed on. Once she’s done, she takes a seat, staring at it, waiting for it to start up again. 

A minute passes and only the sound of the rain hitting the glass windows fill the room. 

Doc sighs, rubbing her eyes, leaning against her desk with her elbows, “I’m probably not getting enough sleep.” She tried writing it off as nothing. There was no way that her old typewriter would start working on its own. With all the late nights, she must’ve been seeing things. 

But the sound of the typewriter typing again, her head snaps to it and even Spike jumps back at its sudden movement. 

Doc watches in fascination as it types all on its own, “This is impossible.” 

Doc reads as it’s typing and furrows her brows. She licks her lips and looks back over at her drawing of Isabeau. 

She scoffs, “And to think… you were just an idea.” 


End file.
